A Shadow of a Doubt
by Malfoyesque Tendencies
Summary: Draco is having a hard time trying to figure out why his shadow just doesn't look right. Really short one shot.


Some people would agree with the statement: shadows are the reflection of one's soul.

That was the basis for the current question going through Draco's mind as he sat in front of the wall in his living room. Draco had been finding himself staring at his shadow a lot lately, trying to figure out what it was that didn't seem right. Every night he sat in the exact same spot on the carpet studying the dark shape cast perfectly onto a vacant area of the newly painted crimson wall. Not one piece of furniture interrupted the contours of his shadow but instead surrounded it; making it look small and insignificant.

Draco's shadow wasn't black. No, he thought it was more a deep, rich red. And when it was on white walls, it had a casual grey spectrum. Only on dark walls, such as navy blue, or heavy chocolate brown, did his shadow appear black. So it wasn't the color that was wrong with his silhouetted form. Draco's eyebrows creased in dissatisfaction as he concluded that, once again, his theory was wrong. His light grey eyes scanned the wall, studying the other shadows around him. What did they have that his didn't? The sliver orbs followed one of the shadow's outlines -in particular a desk with a lamp and a table clock sitting on it- tracing the darkened form with intent. Only when Draco followed the continuous line connecting the tabletop to the base of the lamp, did he finally figure out the mystery that had been plaguing him for so long.

Of course! It was the shapes! Not just the single shape on its own, but the separate objects that so easily morphed into one abstract display of unity on the blank wall, looking as if they had always belonged together.

Draco then quickly shifted his gaze back to his own pathetic shadow. It was tiny. It was significantly out of place; his soft curves and inconsistent solidity of his hair contrasted by the hard, sharp lines and definite corners of the furniture he possessed. A shadow couldn't exhibit the specific folds of his clothing, or the varying colors between his skin and hair. His physical characteristics were of no interest to his shadow, and therefore only displayed a weird, misshapen blob on his wall, supposedly representing his body.

The young man's shoulders stiffened as he realized how alone his shadow was; how out of place and small it must feel surrounded by stagnant giants so very different to the little silhouette; how similar both he and his shadow were at that very moment. Draco's eyes began to sting, tears forming and threatening to cascade down his now flushed cheeks. His chest tightened, as if the organs inside had all of a sudden been placed into a vice and an unknown force was slowly turning the handle. In one fleeting second, the rigid, stiff form of Draco Malfoy dissolved into a shivering, weeping mess in the darkening room.

So lost in his self-pitied state of depression, did Draco not hear the front door opening or the footsteps moving towards the noise emitting from his throat. It wasn't until a pair of familiar arms wrapped themselves around his torso did Draco finally become aware of his lover's arrival.

"Draco?" Harry's voice spoke softly into the distressed man's ear. Draco turned around in the big comforting arms to face brilliant emerald eyes, full of worry and concern for him.

"Harry…"

Without any explanation, Draco collapsed into the awaiting chest of his ex-rival. Harry simply shifted into a more comfortable position for the two of them and allowed Draco to fall to pieces in his arms; knowing full well that he would have to pick them up afterwards and glue the shards back together.

Not a word need be spoken between the two as they sat together in a huddled mass of limbs and clothing. When Draco finally lifted his heads from the safety of Harry's shoulder, the image painted before him on the same red wall he had only minutes ago found unbearable, gave him a sense of elation he'd never known before.

There, staring back at him was the perfect merging of two forms. Curves and lines, shape and color; his and Harry's bodies had morphed into one perfect, abstract shadow dancing under the artificial light. It was no longer small and pitiful, but strong and bigger than al lthe other dark images painted across the wall. It was then that Draco discovered the essence of perfection: enveloped in the arms of Harry, his shadow was complete.


End file.
